


Ghostlight

by softlyforgotten



Series: Ghostlight [1]
Category: Bandom, Phantom Planet, The Like, The Young Veins
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyforgotten/pseuds/softlyforgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The universe was a big and sometimes frightening place, full of inexplicable things and touches of magic, and Z liked to think that there were stranger things in the world than her friend Charlotte and Charlotte's ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghostlight

"I hate this song," Tennessee said, matter-of-fact, and Z threw a shoe at her. Tennessee raised a hand to guard her face automatically, but the shoe flew straight through her hand and then her head, and Z pumped her fist in the air and got up from her bed to add another line in chalk to her current tally. She was seven ahead of Charlotte, and pulling away. Tennessee made a mournful sound, and Z turned around, smiled with all her teeth.

"This song is great," she said. "Have you listened to the lyrics? And that bit of piano that comes in underneath in the third minute?"

"Yes," Tennessee said. "I picked up on them around the twenty-eighth time you played it. I stopped liking them around the forty-third. Just, you know, in case you were wondering."

Z paused for a moment. Then she said, slow, so Tennessee could let it sink in properly and stop being such a moron, "This song is _great_." Tennessee eyed the discarded shoe, until it flew up and hit Z square in the middle of her forehead. "Ow!" Z cried, and Tennessee grinned and licked her forefinger, marking an invisible strike in the air.

\---

The universe was a big and sometimes frightening place, full of inexplicable things and touches of magic, and Z liked to think that there were stranger things in the world than her friend Charlotte and Charlotte's ghost. It was a simple way to keep it in her head, anyway; to keep her from reverting to that first terrifying week of school where she'd seen a smiling girl all around the place, watching her across the cafeteria, trailing after her during Z's lunchbreak, winking at her across a classroom – all of which would have been fine, except for the fact that the girl was transparent, and nobody else Z spoke to knew what she was talking about.

On her second week at her new school, lonely and scared, another girl had sat opposite her in the cafeteria one lunchtime and said, "So, I don't usually do this, but Tenn says you can see her."

Since then, Z liked to think of things plainly: Charlotte was her best friend, and so was Tennessee, but Charlotte was alive, and Tennessee wasn't. Probably somewhere out there aliens were busy crafting messages of goodwill and really pretty crop circle designs, and Z didn't have to worry about a tiny touch of the bizarre in her own life. Especially when the bizarre came in the form of Tennessee, who was tall and lorded that extra height over Z unfairly and constantly; who played drums on her jean-clad thighs as one of the most annoying nervous tics in the history of ever; who could trip over things even when she wasn't strictly of the physical world.

On days like this it was easy to believe. Tennessee was squished in close to her in the booth of the crappy diner they came after school, leaning over Z's shoulder to read as she wrote her English essay. Z had given up telling Tennessee that she couldn't concentrate when Tenn did that, mostly because it wasn't true anymore. Tennessee didn't make her feel watched in the strict sense, just in the careful way, and every now and then Tennessee would murmur, "You forgot to finish that sentence," and Z would look up and smile at her. Sometimes she leaped ahead of herself; it was nice, having Tenn there to pull her back.

When Z finally put her pen down, Tennessee gestured slightly and the waitress drifted towards them, half-frowning, as if she had an uncertain destination in mind. "Hey," Z said, when she got close enough, and the waitress turned and blinked, shaking herself awake. Tennessee rested her cheek in her hand while Z ordered milkshakes for herself and Charlotte, and a plate of fries to share between them.

Charlotte arrived just in time, sliding opposite them breathlessly as the waitress returned with the milkshakes. "Chocolate or strawberry?" Z said, and Charlotte considered and then reached for the strawberry.

"How was detention?" Tennessee asked. Charlotte scowled.

"Ben Jacobs _would not_ stop chewing gum," she said. "He does it really loudly, and Mrs Deans likes all the jocks so much that she doesn't even tell him off, and the whole time it's just, _gum_ , in my _ear_."

"We should poison his drinking water," Z said thoughtfully. "They all leave their drink bottles on the edge of the pitch, we could get to it easy."

"They're the school darlings," Charlotte said, sighing. "Mr Woods would probably carry out forensic tests to see who did it." She narrowed her eyes. "It would have been easier to bear if _someone_ didn't ditch me whenever I have detention now."

"There's only so many funny faces I can make behind Mrs Deans' back before I get bored," Tennessee said, smiling slightly. "And besides, it's not like hanging out with you is my only option these days."

"Traitor," Charlotte said. Z twirled her straw in her milkshake and smiled, and Tennessee blew a stray breeze into existence to tuck one of Z's curls behind her ear.

\---

"Where's Tenn?" Charlotte called. Z turned, tucking her thumbs beneath the straps of her schoolbag, surprised.

"I don't know," she said. "Could be anywhere."

"Huh," Charlotte said, catching up with her. "I guess I figured that nowadays if she's not with me, she's with you. C'mon, let's go to my place. My parents are out for the night."

"Ooh," Z said, grinning. "Can we try that brandy pudding again?"

"Yeah," Charlotte said. "I think if we disable the smoke alarm _before_ we start we might have a better chance at it? I mean, we almost had it last time, we could have just scraped the burnt bits off."

"Stupid automated sprinkler system," Z agreed, and she and Charlotte exchanged a woeful glance that, Z thought, perfectly called up the image of bedraggled hair and clothes and a ruined cake and Tennessee laughing so hard she fell off her perch on the top of the fridge. Charlotte's eyes were bright like she was remembering the exact same thing, and she stepped close and slung an arm around Z's shoulders, tugging her in.

Z laughed. "It's so weird," she said, "having that without, like, the electric shock."

Charlotte blinked at her. "From Tenn?" she said. "Tenn doesn't give you electric shocks. You just can't feel her."

"I guess you're used to it," Z said, and shrugged. Being best friends with a ghost from the age of five probably made you less sensitive to paranormal activity. Z was just glad that she still got the effects of Tennessee trying to touch her, even if Tennessee couldn't: the shiver of cold air, the ripple of goosebumps, Tenn's incorporeal arm sending electricity coursing through Z's blood.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "You sure this isn't just like that thing at The Sundays concert last year?"

"I _felt_ her," Z insisted, and thought again about that show; pressed up on the barricade with Charlotte, Tennessee dancing in front of her, and how for a split second Z had been _sure_ that Tennessee tripped backward and hit her with a flailing arm before she was gone again.

"No," Charlotte said. "You just wanted to feel her."

Stupid innuendo aside, Z thought, Charlotte was probably right. She swallowed and shrugged, hunching her shoulders and tucking her hands in her pockets, and tried not to look desolate enough for Charlotte to notice properly.

"Hey, so," Charlotte said, and Z looked up. "Prom next week."

"Prom?" Z echoed, a little doubtfully.

"Yeah, I just." Charlotte shrugged, looking helpless. "Are you going?"

"Hadn't planned on it," Z said. "It's not much fun on your own."

Charlotte grinned at her. "That was my reasoning," she said, and Z laughed, pulling Charlotte into a one-armed hug. "Is that you asking me out?" Charlotte asked, waggling her eyebrows, and Z kissed her cheek, deliberately making the loud, smacking noise that made Charlotte groan and squirm away.

"I'll be the best date ever," Z promised, and Charlotte eyed her narrowly, vigilant for another attack, before she drifted back to the middle of the path with Z.

"Cool," she said.

"What's cool?" Tennessee asked, and Z shrieked and clutched at Charlotte, jerking backward. Charlotte didn't move, too used to Tennessee's sudden entrances, but she patted Z's head in a comforting sort of way and shot Tennessee a reproving look.

"That's bad manners, Tennessee Thomas," Charlotte said, and Tennessee laughed and came to walk on the other side of Z, a cool breath of air against her.

"Sorry, Z," she said.

"You're never sorry," Z said, and Tennessee laughed again, the stupid, lovely laugh that Z could never help smiling back at.

"What's cool?" Tennessee repeated.

"Prom," Charlotte said. She hoisted her bag up higher on her back and affected an airy sort of voice, skipping along for a few steps. "Z's going to take me." She stopped and turned around, clutching her hands to her heart and fluttering her eyelashes, and Z stooped low in a bow and blew Charlotte a kiss.

"Oh," Tennessee said. She pushed her hair behind her ear. "That is cool."

Z looked at her warily. Tenn got sad sometimes, at the things she was missing out on. Tennessee didn't know how or when she had died, and even so there was the weirdness of Tennessee managing to age, so Z wasn't sure if Tennessee had ever gone to high school on her own. All she knew was that sometimes Tennessee got sad about not doing things the way Charlotte and Z got to, but she hoped that wasn't the case now. That would be _stupid_ , because Tennessee didn't have to be sad, she never had to be sad, if Z had her way. "You want to come, too?" she asked.

"No," Tennessee said. Her mouth twisted to the side. "I wouldn't want to ruin your date."

"Damn right," Charlotte said. "Z's going to treat me _good_."

Z laughed. "I promise to get you a corsage," she said, and thunder boomed overhead.

"Huh," Charlotte said. "Didn't look like rain, before."

Tennessee shrugged.

\---

Halfway through baking their pudding – with a 65% greater success rate over the time – Ryan called Z's cell and started complaining to her about how Alex was going to prom now, and there was nobody else who understood the value of a good boycott, and Ryan was considering putting on a barn dance on the same night with alcohol and some of Jon's special cookies, just to really piss the school off. Z made a horrified face at herself in the mirror and said, in a small voice, "Um, I'm going to prom. With Charlotte."

There was a very long pause on the other end. "I see," Ryan said flatly. Which was how Z found herself leaving Charlotte trying to talk to Tennessee without looking like a crazy person at lunch the next day in favour of Ryan.

She slipped through the slim gap in the fence at the back of the school, heading for the woods where Ryan and his friends ate lunch, perched on soggy, falling apart pieces of lounge furniture that they had rescued from various dumpsters around the city. They'd gone through a phase of smoking pipes, too, and Ryan and Alex had forced the others into forming a Dead Poet Society With More Sex. Charlotte and Tennessee had saved Z from drifting from corner to corner of the school in lonely obscurity, and Z loved them completely for it, but she was also really glad that she'd got to know Ryan in her English class in her second year at the school. Her friends were the best.

"No," Ryan said, when she passed through the first scattered trees. Jon and Alex looked up from their conversation and waved at her, and Z waved back, but kept her focus on Ryan, who was pointing a bony finger at her. "No, Elizabeth Berg, you have betrayed me. I never want to lay eyes upon you again."

"I bought you pudding," she said, holding out the plastic container. "It has rum in it."

Ryan slanted her a look, then reached out for the pudding. Z came and sat on the arm of his chair, said, "Sorry."

"As you should be," Ryan said, staring off past the trees.

"Where were you going to find a barn though, anyway?" she asked. Ryan gave her another haughty look, but his eyes were bright, and he ripped into the pudding with fervour.

"This tastes like crap," he informed her, mouth full. Z nodded.

"We're not very good at cooking," she said.

"I think I should get further compensation," Ryan said, and Z narrowed her eyes at him.

"What do you want?"

"Spencer's band is having another open rehearsal on Friday," Ryan said. "I thought we could maybe show. Y'know."

"Ryan," Z said. "This is pathetic."

" _Please_ ," Ryan said, abandoning the aloof act and moving around on his chair to sit on it sideways and gaze up at Z, eyes huge and pleading in his pale face. "Please, Z, I can't go on my own, and I have to go."

Z eyed him. "You owe me extra now," she said.

"Sure," Ryan said, nodding his head up and down very quickly.

"I mean it," Z said. "I want some of Jon's brownies or something."

"On it," Ryan said, very seriously, and Z gave him another dark look and then slid down onto his lap, reaching for her bag and the book inside it. Ryan tilted his head back, offering her one of his earbuds, and Z took it and read her book, Ryan picking out chord patterns against her knee.

\---

Z's B-string had broken; she had her guitar cradled between her knees when Tennessee appeared cross-legged on the other end of her bed, making Z gasp and start backwards, covering her heart with her hand. " _Tenn_ ," she said.

"Sorry," Tennessee said, very quietly.

"I mean – warn a girl," Z said, still flustered. She picked up the new string from where she had dropped it on the bedcovers, and bent her head over the guitar.

"I would if I could," Tennessee said, and Z looked up. Tennessee swallowed. "I can't make any noise," she said. "Coming up to you, I mean, I can't." Z knew this, she did; it didn't even need telling. She didn't know why it felt like something new, something harsh and too large caught in her throat. "I would if I could," Tennessee repeated, "I'd – make footsteps or throw stones at your window or – I don't mean to frighten you, Z."

"I know," Z said. She reached out, and Tennessee looked at her hand without moving. "I know you would."

After a moment, Tennessee nodded. She skated her fingers through the air, just stopping short of brushing Z's; if it wasn't for the fact that Z could see her own untidy bookshelves behind Tennessee, through Tennessee, it could almost have been that Tennessee hadn't touched her for a normal reason, for not quite reaching far enough.

Tennessee looked down. "How was your day?"

"It was okay," Z said. She drew in a breath and smiled, said, "Brendon and Spencer's band is rehearsing on Friday."

"Oh, no," Tennessee said, and smiled. If the loners and rebels of Z's school could be said to have a mascot, it was Brendon and Spencer's band. Ian and Dallon had joined them last year, and the four of them were in the centre of everything, writing and playing and laughing through the corridors, barely noticing the football jocks who bodychecked them as they passed. They didn't get many shows – their songs weren't that great yet – but they held band practices that usually had a good dozen observers, and Ryan was almost always among them.

Supposedly, it was for Spencer's sake. Spencer and Ryan had been best friends since they were kids, and rumour had it that Ryan could have been part of the band if he hadn't chosen to hang out in the woods with his own particular gang of misfits. Ryan and Spencer were still close, but Ryan tended to shun everybody else in the school with a lofty self-righteousness, and if it hadn't been for Spencer, there would have been no real excuse for him turning up to the practices at all. As it was, he got by – just.

"Yeah," Z said. "Anyway, I'm getting brownies out of it, so."

"Score," Tennessee said. Z smiled at her, even though it felt too quick on her lips, trembling and fleeting, and set to tuning the strings again properly. Tennessee lay back on Z's bed, legs dangling off the edge, and if it weren't for the fact that the mattress didn't adjust to her shape at all, the covers didn't shift, Z could almost believe. The shadows of the oncoming evening hit Tennessee at an angle that made her look real.

 _I don't believe in ghosts,_ Z thought as hard as she could, staring at Tennessee. _I don't, I don't._ Tennessee stretched, and a stray sunbeam fell through her hand.

Z drew in a breath. "You do anything today?"

"Ran the hidden pine trails of the forest," Tennessee said. "Tasted the sun-sweet berries of the Earth, you know how it goes."

"I _knew_ Charlotte wasn't skipping class for a doctor's appointment," Z said indignantly, sitting up. "I can't believe you guys had a Disney Day without me!"

"Technically it was more of an afternoon," Tennessee said. Z huffed and Tennessee laughed, coming further up the bed so she could sprawl on her stomach next to Z. Z glanced down at her, still glaring, and Tennessee laughed, stretching out her arms and rolling onto her back, face bright and open and happy.

"Still," Z said. "I'm pretty sure there's a rule about that in the pact."

"Sometimes you've just gotta fix the craving when it comes," Tennessee said firmly. "Plus Mr Henderson got on Charlotte's back again today, she was just about ready to kill him. I don't think she would have made it through Chem."

"You're a good friend," Z said, and put her hand palm down on the bed, near Tennessee's shoulder. Tennessee stared up at her, and Z felt her smile fade. "Tenn," she said. "I. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong with you?" Tennessee said, and Z swallowed.

"Did something happen," she began.

"Nothing ever happens," Tennessee said, and Z reached out to touch Tennessee's hair, caught thin air between her fingers.

"Tenn," she said. Tennessee's eyes were wide and fixed on Z's face, and she was breathing faster than normal. Z said, "How—"

"Close your eyes," Tennessee said, "and wish very hard—"

"Honey?" Z's mom opened the door and peered into the bedroom, looking a little confused. Tennessee got up from the bed; crossed to the opposite wall and leaned against it, arms folded. Some of her hair fell back, sinking through the plaster. "Who are you talking to?"

"It wouldn't work anyway," Tennessee said, and Z looked at her.

"No one, Mom," she said, as Tennessee began to fade out of view. "I'm singing."

\---

The next morning Z was a little nervous. She rode her bike to school rather than taking the bus, meeting Charlotte at the corner near her house. Tennessee was walking next to Charlotte, talking cheerfully enough, and when Z dug her heels into the ground, she looked up and smiled, small and unsure but real. Z let out a breath.

"Hey!" Charlotte said, and Z darted another glance at Tennessee, but Tenn didn't say anything at all, just watched her.

"I'm not talking to you," Z said, finally. "You had a Disney day without me, you assholes."

"Technically it was a Disney afternoon," Charlotte said, because she and Tennessee had known each other for way too long.

Z said, "I think my point stands," and Charlotte looked a little shifty.

"My mom and dad are out all day," she said. "We could—"

"Hell, yes," Z said, and turned to quirk an eyebrow at Tennessee.

Tennessee laughed. "You mean I don't have to sit through six hours of classes that I don't actually have to learn? Gee, you guys are _mean_."

"My dad probably won't leave for half an hour or so," Charlotte said, turning around and pulling out her cell. "You want to get an ice cream or something?"

"Yeah, come on," Z said, and got off her bike, walking it along beside them. Charlotte busied herself on her cell, calling in sick for them as both her own and Z's mom – she was awesome at getting the voices just right – and Z looked at Tennessee. She wished for the umpteenth time that she could bump her shoulder against Tennessee's, grab her hand.

"How are you?" she said instead, and Tenn smiled down at her.

"I'm good," she said. "I'm fine. Sorry about yesterday, I was just – out of sorts."

"That's okay," Z said. "You're allowed."

"Hmmn," Tennessee said. "What ice cream are you getting today?"

"Uh, coconut ripple and pistachio," Z said, and laughed when Tennessee made a disgusted face, taking a certain delight as always in what she termed Z's ’revolting' taste. "What do you know, freak," Z said, "you can't even taste it."

She couldn't help another sidewise glance to check that that was an okay thing to say, and Tennessee grinned and cartwheeled forward through a streetlight, which Z could never stop finding weird as hell. She yelped, and Charlotte hung up with a stern look and said, " _Jesus_ , Z, I should have just told them that my daughter was mildly insane this morning, did you want to make any other weird noises?"

Z slung an arm around Charlotte's shoulders, hanging off her cheerfully. "I like to add to the authenticity of your Mom Voice as best I can," she said, and Charlotte slipped an arm around Z's waist and tiptoed lightly over to the edge of the sidewalk, steering Z inconspicuously and then tripping her enough that Z stumbled and fell into the gutter, landing heavily on her ass. "Hey, fuck you," she said, while Tennessee and Charlotte both fell about laughing, wheezing imitations of her to each other that involved a lot of melodramatic glowering.

Z got her chosen ice cream concoction and Charlotte got her standard chocolate and vanilla cone, while Tennessee tried to shock them into a reaction by dancing along the glass counter and stepping ghostly feet into each of the tubs of ice cream, holding her feet up to display the (equally transparent, but still kind of grotty) dirt on her soles before planting them firmly back into the sorbet. Charlotte kept whispering nonsense words into Z's ear to give them an excuse for laughing helplessly, and Tennessee looked smug, sitting cross-legged on the floor and then startling back with horror when the matronly woman behind it passed her by.

"She's wearing a thong," Tennessee announced, and the woman glared as Charlotte and Z burst into laughter all over again.

They took the longer route back to Charlotte's house, swapping cones occasionally for a taste. Tennessee lingered a little behind them, humming and sending a breeze to skip pebbles in front of her. Z slung her arm around Charlotte's shoulder, and when they got to Charlotte's house they put on _Hercules_ , and Z thought that everything would be okay, everything would be fine. Tennessee lay on her stomach on the floor in front of them, and sang along under her breath to _Won't Say I'm In Love_.

When Z got up to go to the bathroom, though, Charlotte followed her, cornered her when she came out.

"What?" Z said, and Charlotte tilted her head to the side, watched her carefully.

"What's going on with you two?" she said. Z swallowed, shifting from foot to foot.

"Did Tenn say something?" she asked, barely able to get the words out, and Charlotte looked suddenly unhappy.

"Not really." Charlotte sighed. "She just came over last night all sad, and – I mean, she was in a bad mood, you know what she's like, sometimes, but it was just. She was just sad."

Z ran her tongue along her teeth, letting the sharp edges catch. "I didn't mean to," she said, voice low. "I just. We didn't fight or anything."

"I know," Charlotte said. She reached out and touched Z's hair, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, and Z let out a breath before she'd realised that she was nervous, strung tight. It was hard to forget, sometimes, that for all of Charlotte's warmth and easy companionship, for all of Tennessee's – everything, they had still known each other since Charlotte was five, that Tennessee had somehow managed to contradict all the ghost stories Z had ever known to _grow up_ with Charlotte. Either one of them being mad at her always made Z stupidly uneasy.

"Just," Charlotte said, "be careful," and Z nodded.

"Doing my best," she said. They came back into the living room and Tennessee looked up and smiled. Z sat on the sofa, but Charlotte went down and lay beside Tennessee, pressing close enough that Tennessee's edges blurred.

\---

"I don't know," Tennessee said. Z gaped at her, horrified.

"You can't just _abandon_ me," she said. "You know Charlotte refuses to go, come on, Tenn. I _need_ you."

"We could both make a break for it?" Tennessee suggested.

Z shook her head ruefully. "It's _Ryan_ ," she said. "Besides, he's waiting for me at the gate. I bet you he'll have Alex posted as sentry at the back exit, too. I'm doomed."

"You owe me," Tennessee said. "So big. And you have to talk to me."

"I'm not sure even Ryan would be okay with me talking to thin air," Z said, but agreed anyway. Really, Ryan probably would deal with it. It was everyone else turning up to the band practice that might be a little freaked out, and if Brendon Urie was one of those people who got freaked, Ryan would never forgive her.

Tennessee scoffed. "You could start singing in Russian to invisible pixies and Ryan would just want you to share the lyrics," she said.

"Yeah, well," Z began hotly, and then Ryan waved at her from the gate and she clamped her mouth shut, shooting Tennessee one last glare. Tennessee laughed smugly and fell into step beside Z.

"Oh my Lord," she said, as they got closer. "What on earth is he wearing?" Z had never wished so hard that she could elbow Tennessee in the ribs.

It was sort of true, though. Ryan was strangely dressed, even by his standards: a newsboy cap that Z had thought he'd retired a year or two ago, pinstriped trousers and suspenders over a Michael Jackson t-shirt from the Fame era that she was pretty sure belonged to Alex, with a suit jacket thrown over that and a yellow carnation in the buttonhole. He'd brought out the eyeliner again, and the cap was pulled down enough to shadow his eyes. Z sighed and steeled herself.

The band played at Spencer's house, which was a close walk both from Ryan's house and the school, which worked out well. Usually they didn't start until around five, so Z went to hang out with Ryan for an hour and a half before they walked over to Spencer's. She usually stayed the night at Ryan's house, then, because it was too dark to even think about riding her bike back to her house, and Ryan's car was moody, to say the least. Mostly he just left it in his garage and patted its hood woefully now and again, rather than ever actually taking it anywhere.

"Hey," he said as she reached him. "All set?"

"My loins are girded," Z said cheerfully, and Ryan leered at her. Tennessee held up one finger in the air, and Z bit her lip to keep from giggling. Tennessee counted how many times Ryan smiled on band practice days. So far the record was four, which was tiny in comparison even to Ryan at his most emo. Z pushed Ryan forwards and murmured, "It's a pervy thing, doesn't count."

Tennessee nodded solemnly, while Ryan turned and blinked at her. "What?"

"Nothing," Z said. "Come on, let's go. I want my copy of _Leaves of Grass_ back."

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan said. "I got that new ice cream, too, the one with the toffee chips—"

"You're a good man," Z said.

Ryan's house was empty when they reached it, which wasn't really a surprise. They only ever stayed at Ryan's house when there were band practices, and Z wondered how much time Ryan himself spent at it when it was just him and his dad. Ryan hadn't ever really explained the situation fully to her, but it hadn't taken much to work out, especially when Tennessee flinched the first time she stepped inside, swallowed hard and said, in a small voice, "Oh, Z, this house is too sad."

Z never asked and Ryan never offered, but Z made a point of not glancing over the empty bottles stacked beside the fridge, and Ryan made sure that they spent most of their time in his room. She had never once slept on the floor or the couch, either, and Ryan hunched back into her when she curled up behind him at night, threw her leg over his hip and her arm around his chest.

When they bothered going to sleep, that was. Neither of them were very good at shutting up, and Ryan had a TV in his room.

Ryan fetched the ice cream from the freezer, Z grabbed the spoons, and they went upstairs to watch MTV and mock the music videos. Occasionally if Tennessee pointed out something funny, Z would repeat it to Ryan, and if it made him smile slightly, Tennessee got this weirdly proud look. It was impossible to make Ryan laugh today, of course, and as the time passed, Ryan got progressively more twitchy, fiddling constantly with the hem of his jacket.

"What did everyone at school think of you in that outfit?" Z asked, finally, and Ryan looked at her sheepishly.

"Jon laughed pretty hard," he said. "But like – I had history with Spencer and – Spencer this morning, I couldn't, uh, change clothes now or anything. No one else bothers, I can't – it would be too obvious."

"Pathetic, Ryan Ross," Z said, for what felt like the millionth time in her life, and Ryan looked down, shrugged his bony shoulders. Z adjusted his collar and said, "Come on. Time to go." Ryan stared at her, eyes wide and dark, and Z laughed, leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "We've done this a million times," she said. "Come on. Don't be a sook."

When she looked up, Tennessee was watching her, leaning back on the bed, her eyes clear and intent and fixed on Z. Z swallowed hard, and Tennessee touched the corner of her own mouth, light and swift, right where Z had kissed Ryan.

"Z?" Ryan said, and Z released a harsh breath.

"Yeah," she said. "I – sorry. Someone walked over my grave." Tennessee laughed softly, and Z took Ryan's hand, let him pull her to her feet.

\---

Z had known that Ryan was good at a lot of things fairly soon after she first met him, especially because she met him in English. She'd learned the things he was bad at very quickly after that, but it had taken her a while to work out the thing Ryan was best at in the world, which was a pity. It was an awesome, though admittedly frustrating, thing to watch in person, and it was almost worth being dragged along to every public band practice Spencer and Brendon had just to see it in action.

The band practiced in Spencer's garage, and usually there were a small group of school friends and acquaintances watching them, kids with crushes on the guys or the music, kids who didn't have anything to do. Spencer's mom had let him take out to the garage some of their older furniture as a result, and now Z was sitting on the couch with Ryan, legs tucked over Ryan's lap, and watching as Ryan practiced his greatest talent. He looked like he was texting someone on his cell, face bored, cap tugged over his eyes, barely appearing to glance at where the band was rehearsing, while in reality spending the whole time staring fixedly at Brendon Urie.

Z was pretty good at noticing it now; the flicker of Ryan's eyelashes, the whiteness around his knuckles where he was clutching his phone. She sighed and rested her chin on her hand, and did what she always did: ignored Ryan for the most part, enjoyed the music (the band was legitimately good, and Brendon was a brilliant performer, no matter how small the crowd), and occasionally patted Ryan's elbow when Brendon sauntered over to Ian or Dallon and pressed himself up against them, sharing their mikes.

"Hey," Brendon said, about half an hour into practice. Z blinked and took a moment to realise he was looking at them, had wandered over to stand in front of them while Ian retuned his guitar. Brendon smiled, huge and bright, and said, "Hey, hi."

"Uh," Z said, and then laughed, smiled back at him. "Hey, man. What's up?"

"Um, I was just wondering," Brendon said. "In history, you know—"

"I don't do history," Z said, and elbowed Ryan, who was busy pretending like he wasn't straining to pick up every word of the conversation. "Ryan, history."

"What about it?" Ryan said coolly, looking up.

Tennessee made a despairing sound, flopping forward on the ground. "I can't take it," she said. "It's just too ridiculous." Z pinched her lips together to keep from laughing.

"Uh," Brendon said, smile fading a little. He adjusted the strap of his guitar. "I was just thinking about – when's that guest lecturer due to come in? The one Ms Harris won't shut up about, you know, I think she has—"

"Tuesday," Ryan said, his voice perfectly flat. Z glared at him, but Ryan ignored it.

"Right," Brendon said. He shifted his balance uneasily, holding onto his guitar. "So, Spencer said that you—"

"Aren't you meant to be practicing?" Ryan said, looking up, and Brendon shut his mouth. For a moment he stared, and then he shook his head, took a step back.

"Yeah," he said, smiling slightly. "Yeah, I am."

He turned and walked back to the other guys, and Z sighed, shifting in closer to Ryan so she could murmur in his ear without being overheard.

"Why do you have to do that?" she said. "How on earth does it make anything better?"

Ryan swallowed, hands flying over the keys of his cell. They were spelling gibberish, same as every band practice, messages to no one. "I can't _talk_ to him," Ryan said, voice shaking slightly, "I can't, I can't—"

"Alright," Z said. She tucked a stray curl of his hair behind his ear; adjusted his hat. "Alright, Ryan."

Ryan shivered and pulled off his jacket, smoothing it compulsively and laying it by his side. Z leaned back against the arm and went back to watching the band argue half-heartedly over the time signature of a new song.

"Only two smiles today," Tennessee said from her place on the floor, and Z looked down at her and shrugged one shoulder, half smiling, _what do you expect?_ Tennessee laughed and said, "Yeah, I know. It's stupid, though. If he actually talked, you know, something might happen."

Z thought about Tennessee touching her mouth, Tennessee telling her about wishes, Tennessee not quite touching her a hundred times, a thousand. She pulled her cell out of her pocket and let it slip to the ground, twisting and stooping to pick it up.

"It's hard," she said, voice low, "to say things out loud, sometimes."

"I know that, too," Tennessee said.

"Brendon, what the fuck," Spencer said, distracting Z for a moment from Tennessee's steady gaze. "We can't just pull shit out of nowhere—"

"We did it last year!" Brendon said. "When we were going to do the themed party for Halloween, c'mon, Spence, I just wanna give it a go."

"I think I remember," Ian said, and shrugged.

"Well, of course fuckin' _Crawford_ remembers," Dallon said, laughing. "We can't all be tiny geniuses—" and then something cool brushed against Z's knee, and she shivered, looked back at Tennessee.

"Listen to me," Tennessee said, urgently. "Listen, I know it's unfair, and that I can't, I can't – and I want you to be happy, fuck, Z, I want so much, so much _life_ for you, but, just. Charlotte told me yesterday about this guy, this, I don't even know, he's a _quarterback_ , he doesn't go to our – to your school, and I just wanted you to know, because even though she's going to prom with you, she might – I don't want you to be sad, if Charlotte—"

"Charlotte?" Z said, too surprised to find a way to hide the fact that she was talking. "Tennessee, I'm not in – I don't like _Charlotte_ —"

"What?" Ryan said, staring at her. "Why are we talking about Charlotte?"

Z blinked quickly at him, trying to come up with some sort of suitable answer, and then Brendon yelped into the microphone, wild and exuberant, and Spencer hammered out a really familiar beat, distracting them both. Ryan was back to pretending to message people, and Z stared, trying to work out when 'The Way You Make Me Feel'had become part of the band's repertoire.

"Oh my God," Tennessee said, and when Z looked down at her, Tenn was smiling, sort of rueful, like she'd wanted to finish their conversation, but irrepressibly delighted all the same. "Z," she said, and pointed to Ryan's t-shirt, and Z looked at him and the newly revealed Michael Jackson tee, and stared.

"Oh, you're kidding me," she said, and Ryan pinched her leg discreetly, the kind of pinch that meant _shut up, Brendon Urie's singing_.

He still wasn't watching in a way that was at all obvious. That was, Z supposed, why Brendon was only looking at Ryan for most the song, shaking his hips and wailing, "I swear I'm keeping you _satisfied_ ," while Spencer rolled his eyes in the background.

"Ryan, you're a moron," Z said, and Ryan ignored her steadfastly; probably, she thought with a hysterical sort of despair, figuring it was one of the usual judgements she threw his way during band practices. His expression hadn't so much as flickered.

" _Boys_ ," Tennessee said, with a disgusted sort of finality, and Z looked down at her, mouth twitching.

"Yeah," she agreed, and Tennessee propped her chin in her hand and smiled at the floor.

The end of the song marked the end of practice, apparently; Dallon set aside his bass and went to grab a drink while Ian picked up his acoustic and went to go and sit with one of the sophomores and fiddle around with chromatic scales. Brendon was over on the other side of the room, chatting brightly with some girls Z vaguely recognised from her art class, so Ryan took the opportunity to get up and cross the room to Spencer.

"Hey," he said, and Spencer grinned at him.

"You going to stop being such a douche to Brendon now?" he asked, and Ryan blinked.

"Why?" he said.

Spencer stared for a moment, and then turned to Z. "I know," she said, and Spencer made a frustrated sound and stood up to sidle around from his kit.

"I'm not entirely sure you're human, you know," Spencer told Ryan, but didn't expand further, starting to talk about the show that The Counting Crows were rumoured to be playing in town next month. Z leaned on Ryan's shoulder and half-listened, starting to get Friday-night-sleepy, the down period before the late night rush kicked in.

Then Tennessee said, voice trembling, " _Z_." Z turned and woke up, because Tennessee was sitting at Spencer's kit, holding his drumsticks. _Holding them_.

"What," Z said.

"I don't know!" Tennessee said, shaking her head. Z took a step closer and reached out and that – that was Tennessee's hair, soft under her hand. Z gasped and stumbled forward, running her hand down Tennessee's face, cupping her chin, turning her towards her, Tennessee warm and solid under her, Tennessee gripping Spencer's drumsticks with white knuckles, Tennessee turning into Z's touch and twisting her face to the side to press a trembling, shockingly hot kiss against Z's palm.

"Hey," Spencer said suddenly. "Sorry, I didn't see you there." Z stared, watching Ryan and Spencer look at Tennessee, look right at her. Tennessee jolted, too, startled enough that she dropped the sticks, and Z's hand was going through air again.

"Woah," Ryan said, staring. "What the fuck, where did she—"

"Oh, no," Tennessee said, and went to snatch up the drumsticks again, but her fingers slid right through the wood. "No, no, no," she said, and stood up, shivering like she was caught in a high wind, like she was about to blow away.

"Tenn," Z said brokenly, and reached out, tried to touch Tennessee again.

" _Fuck_ ," Tennessee said, and ran for the door, through all the people in the way, through the walls. Z didn't even think before she'd spun on her heel and was following Tenn, out into the night, Ryan calling her name behind her.

She ran, feet slipping on the gravel before she hit the path, running mindlessly down the road, shouting Tennessee's name into the dark, breath catching in her lungs. Her hand was tingling with Tennessee's kiss, and she clutched it to her chest for a moment, before the awkward movement almost made her trip and she ran on.

She didn't have any real idea where she was going, though some part of her thought that running down a dark road with nobody else around and not much traffic probably wasn't the best of ideas. All she could think about was Tennessee's skin under hers, Tennessee solid and warm and right there, and fuck if Z was going to give that up now. Tennessee had run _away_ from her, and Z was furious and desperate and wanted to burst into tears, just a little bit, but she had to find Tennessee first.

"Tenn!" she shouted, voice hitching over panting breaths and bitten off sobs. She was too fucking unfit, each breath was like a sharp pain in her chest just now. She staggered to a halt to catch her breath for a moment, bending over and resting her hands outstretched on her knees, struggling to think properly, to keep her head from spinning. She kind of wanted to throw up. "Fuck," she said.

After a moment she plunged into movement again, but it was like the break had only made her worse. She ran too slowly, her limbs burning, each step painful and too slow, like trying to run through honey, or like running was in her dreams, sometimes. "Tennessee!" Z yelled, and then she stumbled and fell over too quickly to realise what was happening, banging the heels of her hands and her knees hard against the stony ground. She reached down, and her jeans were ripped. "Fuck," she said again. She was breathing raggedly, mouth dry and parched.

Headlights cut through the night, but this time the car slowed instead of going right past. _Great_ , she thought, _I'm going to be dismembered and killed on the roadside_ , and then, squinting, _by someone who drives a purple minivan_ , but the person who jumped out of the car wasn't a murderer at all. It was Ryan.

"Z," he said, sharp and worried. "What the fuck?"

"Hi," she whispered, and Ryan stooped to where she was, bending over her.

"Christ," he said, picking up her hands and looking at the grazes. He swiped his thumb over the broken skin, sweeping out some of the tiny stones and pebbles caught there. It stung, and Z drew in a breath, tears pricking at her eyes.

"Whose car is that?" Z said, and Ryan drew her gently to her feet, standing up with her.

"Brendon's," he said. "You kind of freaked a lot of people, running out of there like that."

"Sorry," Z said.

"What happened?" Ryan frowned, and Z opened her mouth, but there was nothing she could say easily, and she didn't really think she could say anything at all. She shook her head, something tight squeezing in her chest, and Ryan got it, because he just pulled her close to him and said, "Okay, hey, it's okay. Come on, we'll get you home."

"Can you – I want to go to Charlotte's," Z said, and Ryan nodded.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "Come on, here. I'll sit in the back with you—"

"No, you sit in the front," Z said, because she wasn't feeling great, but she wasn't stupid enough to accidentally get in the way of another of Brendon Urie's attempts to make Ryan pull his head out of his ass.

"Hey," Brendon said, when she got in. He twisted around in his seat, eyes wide but kind. "You okay?"

"Been better," Z said, and sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Sorry. Thanks for coming to pick me up."

"Sure thing," Brendon said. He darted a glance at Ryan, but Ryan was busy watching Z.

Z pulled up a smile out of somewhere and leaned back against the seat, turning her face to look out the window, half expecting to see Tennessee grey and true against the night. All she could see, though, was her own pale face reflected in the glass, staring frightened and upset back at her.

\---

"What, hey," Charlotte said, opening the door, and Z stopped hammering on it, took a step back. She turned and waved to Brendon and Ryan, and Brendon honked the horn and pulled out of the driveway. Z could just see Ryan staring firmly out the other window.

"Z?" Charlotte said. "Jesus, anyone ever teach you how to knock properly?"

"Is Tennessee here?" Z said.

"I thought she went to practice with you?" Charlotte frowned, folding her arms. "Goddamnit, Z, what—"

"She was _solid_ ," Z said, and Charlotte stopped talking, staring at her. "She picked up Spencer Smith's drumsticks, and she could _hold_ them, and I _touched_ her, but then it stopped and she was – all ghostly again, and then she ran out of there, but Charlotte, Charlotte—"

"Come inside," Charlotte said, and pushed her through the doorway.

Charlotte went and turned on the kettle and Z followed her, jittery and off-balance, clutching at her own elbows and hugging them close. Charlotte nodded at the counter and Z pushed herself up onto it, tapping her fingers against the wood. Her rhythm was off. If Tennessee was here, she'd try and correct it, but Tennessee wasn't, wasn't, _wasn't_.

"Tell me the whole thing," Charlotte said. "Slow," and Z did, forcing herself to breathe evenly in between sentences. It got easier when Charlotte handed her a cup of hot chocolate and Z clutched it between her hands, only just starting to realise how cold she had been.

When she'd finished, Charlotte was leaning on the cupboards directly opposite Z, holding her own cup and staring blankly into space. Her face was paler than usual, and after a moment, she shook her head. "I need a cigarette," she said, absently, like she was waking up from a long sleep, and Z hopped off the cupboard and took Charlotte's hand.

They went out the back of Charlotte's house, down behind her father's old abandoned shed, where Charlotte's parents didn't know about her secret stash of cigarettes. Z turned down Charlotte's offer, sat on the ground with her knees pulled up to her chest while Charlotte smoked. She paused on the exhale, but her movements were jerky and too quick. Z reached out with one hand and curled it around Charlotte's leg, just below her knee.

"I mean," Charlotte said, eventually, "it's not as if we haven't always known Tennessee's a kind of weird ghost."

"Yeah," Z said.

"She never stayed fixed in time and shit, she never – she grew up with me," Charlotte said, and Z nodded. "Plus," Charlotte added, "she's, like, frighteningly well-adjusted, if you think about it."

"What?" Z blinked at Charlotte, and Charlotte shrugged.

"It's like, being seventeen sucks enough already, you know?" she said. "Can you imagine if you were _dead_ on top of that?"

Z laughed, then, short and startled, and Charlotte glanced down at her, sly and pleased, in a way that meant making Z laugh had been her intention all along.

"What do you think it means?" Z asked, after a moment's quiet. Charlotte shrugged, staring at the back fence, before she dropped her cigarette and drove it thoroughly into the ground with her heel.

"I'll tell you one thing," she said, shortly. "I'll bet you anything it doesn't mean she's – alive, or whatever."

"I know," Z said, quietly. When she'd first gotten to know Tennessee, she'd harboured reckless, wistful plans about making Tennessee alive again, reading up on resurrection rituals, bringing back the dead. There wasn't an old myth or dodgy internet site in the world, though, not really, not one to deal with something like Tennessee. Tennessee had died. Z didn't think there was any going back from that. "But," she said.

"Yeah," Charlotte said. She held out her hand and pulled Z to her feet, face close, eyes dark and worried. "But this is – hope for something else, I guess."

\---

Z spent the weekend holed up in her bedroom, ignoring calls and texts from Ryan, much as that was a mean thing to do, and waving off her parents' concerns. She sat on her bed and read, or played guitar, or did homework, but mostly she just stared into space, and every now and then she said, "Tenn?"

Tennessee didn't appear, though, not once, and on Monday Z was antsy and uncomfortable in her own skin again. She rode her bike again, hoping to meet Charlotte, hoping even more that Tennessee would be there again, smiling or shouting or sour-faced but at least not ignoring Z anymore, but it was Monday and there was no chance of her being anything but late. She made it to school just in time for the bell, and her only comfort was that she had probably missed Ryan waiting at the gate to interrogate her about Friday night.

The inevitable could not be put off for long, though. She had English second period, and Ryan was waiting outside the door, arms folded, tapping a foot. She grimaced as she turned the corner and he caught sight of her, raising his eyebrows.

"Sorry," she said, when she reached him.

"I tried to call you," he said, quietly, and Z felt a new small unhappiness settle into place along with everything else. She preferred it when Ryan got pissed at her.

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry. I was a little—" She waved her hand in the air, lopsided and loopy, not any kind of recognisable gesture, but after a moment Ryan nodded as if he got it. His mouth twisted down all the same.

"You alright?" he said, keeping his voice low as they walked into the classroom, both heading for the back where there was less chance of being caught talking or passing notes.

"I'm okay," Z said. She focused on getting her books out, lining up three pens in perfect straight lines parallel to each other. "It's. I've got this friend."

"The girl at practice?" Ryan watched Z, eyes wide. "That was really weird."

"That's – yeah, it was weird," Z said. Ryan made another unhappy face at that and Z reached across the gaps between the table, curled her hand around his wrist. "Ryan," she said. "I'd tell you everything if I could, but it's not – it's not my secret to tell." Ryan stared at her, looked down at her hand on his wrist, and then back up at her face again. After a moment, he nodded, and Z breathed out. "Thank you," she said.

"Alright," Ryan said. "But you're going to be okay?"

Z bit her lip and nodded. Ryan didn't look particularly happy with that answer, but he pressed on. "And you're not going to go running off in the middle of the night again?"

"It wasn't the middle of the night," Z began.

"It was dark, and you don't know the area that well, and you were heading towards the freeway," Ryan said, face hard, and Z thought that when _Ryan_ was telling her off about the practicality of something, probably she had better listen.

"Okay," she said. "I won't."

"Good," Ryan said. Z waited a moment, but Ryan just nodded and turned to his own books. Z slid her hand down to clutch his, squeeze their fingers together for a moment, and Ryan looked up and smiled at her, quick and sweet.

"Good," Z said.

\---

At lunch, Z practically ran to their table, but Charlotte was sitting alone. Z had called and texted her almost constantly through the weekend, waiting and waiting for the _yes, she's here_ in response, but it had never come, and now Charlotte looked worried, tapping her fork in a quick, restless beat on the table.

Z sank into the seat across from Charlotte, and Charlotte looked up, kicked lightly at Z's foot under the table. "Still nothing?" Z said, and Charlotte shook her head. "Goddamnit. This is fucking – I get that it's – she's just being _immature_."

"Maybe," Charlotte said, and nothing more, and Z hated her for a quick, helpless minute, the stupid best friends forever bond or whatever that made it so Charlotte would almost never gang up on Tennessee with Z, made it so that she could say single words imbued with a meaning that Z could never hope to understand. Then Charlotte looked down and pushed her food – Unidentifiable Cafeteria Mess #347 – around on her plate, mouth trembling a little, and guilt squirmed in Z's stomach.

"She's gonna come back, though," Z said. "She's not going to – she's sorting out her head, or whatever."

"Or whatever?" Charlotte echoed, looking straight at Z.

"Maybe she's working it out," Z said. "Maybe she's gone to talk to – magical spirit ghost leaders or whatever, or maybe she's gone to find her past, or maybe she's finding a way to – why it happened that afternoon, what happened so that she can be solid all the time, can always be – maybe she's working it _out_." Charlotte looked at her, clear and steadfast, and Z said, "She could, she could be," and stopped, face crumpling, heaving a breath that was knife-sharp.

Charlotte stood up and came and sat in the seat next to Z, winding her arms around Z's shoulders and pulling her in close. They sat like that, ignoring the stares and pointed comments of those around them, for the rest of lunch, Z's trembling fingers clenched in the material of Charlotte's shirt. When the bell went and Z stood up to go to class, there was a wet patch on the high collar of her blouse, and Charlotte was scrubbing at her cheeks.

\---

The days passed slowly without Tennessee there, so it did not seem quite right that Z didn't remember until Wednesday that it was the prom on Friday. She only remembered at all because Charlotte got up at the end of their Trig lesson and said, "So, hey, have you got a dress?"

Z blinked at her, and Charlotte said, "Oh, come _on_ , Z."

"I – what?" Z said, and Charlotte rolled her eyes, picked up Z's books and started out of the classroom. Z stood still for a moment, frowning and trying to work out what was going on, before Charlotte disappeared out the door and Z hurried to catch up. "What for?" she said again, and Charlotte gave her an affectionate, exasperated look.

"The world doesn't have to grind to a halt, you know," she said. "A dress for _prom_ , Z. On Friday? You remember? I was promised a corsage."

"Oh," Z said. She rubbed the back of her neck, looked sideways at Charlotte. "You still want to go?"

"Tenn wasn't going to come in the first place," Charlotte said, and Z nodded. She knew that, of course. It was just that the almost constant sinking feeling in her stomach didn't feel like it would go that well with prom.

"I don't know," she said softly, and Charlotte stopped in the middle of the hall, stepping in front of Z so that she was blocking Z's path.

"Okay, no," Charlotte said. "You're going. _We're_ going. Z, I can't – you're being really fucking scary at the moment, alright? It's gotta – we've got to work something out, with Tenn, I know that, but she'll come back when she's ready, and until then you've got to _stop_ it already with the gloom and doom. Seriously, teachers keep pulling me aside to ask if they should send you to the guidance counsellor, you're _freaking everybody out_."

Z stared at her. Her mouth quirked and she said, "And by 'everybody', you mean you, right?"

" _Yes_ ," Charlotte said fervently, and Z waited a moment longer and then nodded.

"Alright," she said. "Sorry. We'll go."

"Damn right," Charlotte grumbled.

Z touched Charlotte's shoulder hesitantly. "I don't want it to be like," she started, and then stopped, took a breath. "I mean. I would be just as upset if you, if you up and disappeared on me, or—"

"It's different," Charlotte said. "You don't need to tell me that. And I'm not – jealous, or whatever. I just – you're so _sad_ , Z."

Z bit her lip, and Charlotte looked at her steadily. Z held out her hands and Charlotte gave Z her books back. Then she smiled brightly and said, "So, I'm wearing red! I'm going to need you to match."

\---

"I want you to know," Ryan said, "that I'm doing this for you. Not because I approve of prom."

"Right," Z agreed, trying not to move her face very much. Ryan could be really vicious with a mascara wand when he felt like it, and he was glowering in a way that Z interpreted as _just try me, Elizabeth_.

"Prom," Ryan said, "is an antiquated ritual based on unfair gender stereotypes and deliberately created to isolate and ostracize any alternative to the sugar-coated ideal that only exists in _High School Musical_."

"Right," Z said.

Ryan narrowed his eyes. "I'm serious," he said.

"I am totally with you," Z told him.

"You're not," Ryan countered. "You're not, because you're _going_ , Z, what the fuck."

"I'm trying to infiltrate it from the inside," Z said, and Ryan stepped back, looked torn between surveying his work smugly and being generally horrified at Z's line of argument.

"That's stupid," he said. "Even if that was true, it's still a stupid reason to go to prom."

"Yeah," Z said, standing up. She touched her face, smiling slightly at the birds Ryan had outlined darkly against her cheek. Her dress was a dark, almost navy blue, tight around the bodice and sweeping down in a way that made Z think of Disney princesses. She watched Ryan out of the corner of her eye in the mirror as she said, "Brendon Urie's going."

Ryan fell off the bed. Z started laughing, turned around and wished that she hadn't already gotten in her dress so she could sprawl across the bed without fear of crumpling the fabric. Ryan glared up at her, picking a piece of fluff off his knee, and said, "I hate you."

"You _love_ me," she said, bending down to kiss his forehead. "Come on, give me a lift to Charlotte's house."

Ryan squinted up at her for a moment, and then he held his hand out and she took it, pulled him to his feet. "You look very nice," he said, grudgingly, and Z grinned at him.

"Maybe I'll come 'round your place after," she said. "We should go out somewhere."

"Not tonight," Ryan said, quietly, and Z hesitated, but Ryan wasn't looking at her, so she just nodded. They walked downstairs without speaking, and then Ryan touched his knuckles to the small of Z's back, said, "There's an all night 70s horror movie marathon on at the cinema around the block next Friday. You want to go?"

"Can I wear this dress again?" Z asked, and Ryan grinned at her.

"What else?" he said.

Ryan pulled up outside Charlotte's gate. Z had had a vague and amusing plan in her head of asking Charlotte's dad for official permission to take his daughter to prom, but she got distracted debating the merits of unicorns versus narwhals (Ryan maintained that narwhals were innately superior, as they actually existed; Ryan was a moron) and eventually Charlotte came out and started tapping in an irritated kind of way on Z's window. She got out and Ryan hightailed it out of there before Charlotte could tell him off too, which Z understood.

"Sorry!" Z said, about a hundred times. Charlotte glowered at her, hands on her hips, and Z reached up to adjust the tiny pearls pinned into Charlotte's dark hair, ran her fingers over the soft, warm material of Charlotte's dress. It laced up a little like a corset at the back, and fell prettily around her knees.

The hundred and first time, Charlotte seemed to get bored of Z grovelling and said, "That's okay, come on. Let's go." Charlotte's parents had lent her their car for the night, and Z put the corsage on Charlotte's wrist and linked their fingers together. Charlotte grinned at her and steered with one hand.

The prom was loud, already in full swing by the time they got there. Z grinned at Charlotte, spun her around. "You want punch?" she asked.

"Is it spiked?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

"Probably not," Z admitted, and Charlotte looked momentarily disappointed, before she nodded agreement and Z went off to get it.

When she got back, Charlotte was on her tiptoes, craning over the heads of the shuddering, sprawling dance floor, trying to see someone through the flashing lights. "Who are you looking for?" Z shouted over the music, handing Charlotte her cup, and Charlotte jumped, twisting around and looking guilty again.

"No one," she said. "I thought I saw someone—"

Z drew in a sharp breath. "Tennessee?" she said.

Charlotte turned towards her, face serious. "It wasn't her," she said. "I saw wrong, Z, okay, I just—"

"Alright, I get it," Z said. She went to rub her hands against her face, then remembered Ryan's narrow-eyed warning, and tucked them quickly back at her side. "So," she said, turning to Charlotte. "What do we even do, now? Is there something faintly rebellious we should be doing?"

"What rebellion?" Charlotte blinked at her, eyes wide and innocent. "I'm here to get the full prom experience, Elizabeth."

"You want to get crying in a bathroom over now, or save it up?" Z asked, and Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"You have no soul," she said. Z grinned.

"I honestly didn't think I was going to be the cynical one here," she said. Charlotte shrugged and Z laughed again, couldn't help it, but when she turned to look around the room, she felt – strangely cheerful, in a way that she was sure went against every 'attending prom ironically' rule in the book.

It was nice, though. Besides the various classmates that Z had known and been ignored by for years, there were people she did like, and watching them made her oddly nostalgic, like she was watching a home video filmed a long time ago. Alex and Jon were doing an enthusiastic and offbeat waltz through the middle of the floor, knocking the Head of the Prom Committee over, while Z's friend from her art class, Reni Lane, was talking earnestly to a girl with feathers stuck in her dark, curly hair. Brendon was leaning up against a wall with his arm linked through Spencer's, both of them talking to other people but occasionally looking over their shoulders to beam at each other in a way that would have Ryan making tiny, upset faces if he was here (Z had come to the conclusion long ago that Spencer was actually mostly straight; his and Brendon's default mode was just gleeful flirtation). Pete Wentz was talking to a cheerleader, standing on his tiptoes so that he could wave his hands earnestly up at her, and she was actually smiling back, red hair falling prettily around her face.

"Yeah, I knew you'd like it," Charlotte said, and Z thwacked the back of her head, gentle enough that she didn't knock any of Charlotte's hair out of place.

"Come dance with me," she said.

The music was, as Z had expected, mostly dreadful. It was a lot of remixes and a lot of Top Forty stuff, the kind that Z didn't even bother to listen to for mocking purposes, but really, the sound quality in the school gym was bad enough that they could have been playing Z's favourite album and she would have called it "derivative, repetitive crap".

Dancing with Charlotte, on the other hand, was always fun, and as long as the music had a steady enough beat Z didn't mind so much the horrible sound of it. They shimmied and danced stupidly, throwing in moves from Michael Jackson music videos and the kind of dancing that had gone on at Z's aunt's wedding, and nobody was even looking at them, too busy going on with their own stuff. It was the closest to being part of the school community she'd ever been, Z thought suddenly, and told Charlotte.

"And thank fucking god for that," Charlotte yelled back, over the music. "School spirit doesn't suit you, Z, shut the fuck up." _  
_  
Z laughed, breathless, and the song changed to something slower, dramatic piano chords striking through the room and an abrupt shift of the lighting to a soft blue. "Gotta love prom," Charlotte said, grinning at her, and Z wrapped her arms around Charlotte's neck. Charlotte put her arms loosely around Z's waist and Z stepped in close and rested her head on Charlotte's shoulder.

It had been a good idea, she thought, to do this, to put on a pretty dress and come here tonight with her best friend. Charlotte was humming along with the song in Z's ear, and Z breathed in, breathed out, made an absent note to ask Charlotte what perfume she was wearing tonight. It felt easy, to not think about anything in particular, to turn in slow circles with Charlotte and ignore the blatant staring and snickering of some of the other kids, let her thoughts quiet down and her head stop racing.

"Hey," Charlotte whispered, and Z tilted her head and smiled at her, Charlotte's features blurry this close up. "Thanks for coming with me," Charlotte said, and Z tugged at a loose curl of Charlotte's hair.

"Don't get soppy on me," Z said, and Charlotte laughed as the song ended, pulled away.

"I need a cigarette break," she said, raising her eyebrows slightly. "And they're going to announce the Prom King and Queen in a little while, and I don't wanna be here for that."

"I thought our victory was _assured_ ," Z said, and Charlotte grinned and pinched her arm in a friendly kind of way before she turned and wound her way back through the crowd.

Z was starting to regret letting Charlotte leave without her by the time she had gotten another plastic cup of punch and was standing awkwardly by the wall. Sudden and unexpected fond feelings for her classmates or not, Z still wasn't going to talk to most of them, and they sure as hell weren't going to talk to her. It was a bit of a relief when Brendon fell out of the crowd and grabbed at her arm, smiling widely at her.

"Hey!" he said.

"Hi," Z said, smiling at him. "You look dapper." He did, in his dark suit, and he grinned at her, bobbing his head in thanks.

"You too," he said. "Is that a gown?"

"Charlotte picked it out for me," Z said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not actually allowed to have an opinion of my own."

"Looks good, anyway," Brendon said, and cocked his head to the side, hand going up as if to touch before he dropped it. "I like the birds." His eyes were very dark. "You didn't do them yourself, did you?"

"No," Z said, and Brendon watched her steadily. Z drew in a breath and, conscious of dangerous territory, asked if he was enjoying himself.

It was the right way to distract. "The music here is _awful_ ," Brendon said. "Like, I was saying to Spencer that we should totally have brought our guitars and shit? Ian's not a senior, obviously, but we could have snuck him in, I bet, and if we got some amps working well—"

"No, man, this hall would make you guys sound like shit," Z said. "You don't want that."

"Point," Brendon said, and Z laughed, glad that he hadn't taken offence. Ryan really was a moron, she thought, and then tried not to look too guilty when Brendon bit his lip and shifted from foot to foot and asked, "Uh, so. Is Ryan here?"

Z raised her eyebrows. "And I thought you were coming over here to ask me to dance," she said. "I see how it is."

"Oh, hey, no!" Brendon said, beaming at her. "Let's dance, yeah! I've been trying to get Spencer to, all night."

Both of them froze when the song changed. "Oh, no," Z said.

"Can't back out now!" Brendon crowed, and Z held up her finger, _one minute_ , and fished her phone out of her handbag to send Ryan a quick text: _dancing with bden urie to hiphop, brb_.

"Alright," she said, grimacing, "let's do this thing," and Brendon grabbed her hand and led her out onto the floor.

It was a ridiculous song, and Brendon treated it as such, twisting his face into stupid expressions and wiggling around, acting out lines of the songs with exaggerated gestures until Z was having trouble dancing herself, she was laughing so hard. About halfway through, Brendon seized her up in a demented tango, and Z tossed her hair and preened, did her best to play up to him as well as she could. He was a good dancer, a sense of rhythm there underneath all the play, and he made her look good, as well. Z appreciated a partner like that.

"Hey," he said, when they'd both slowed down a little, running out of breath. "Did you – I mean, you're alright? The other night—"

"Yeah," Z said, looking away a little awkwardly. "I – sorry, it was just a – it was kind of weird, and. Long story."

"That's cool," Brendon said, nodding. "I just wanted to make sure."

"Thanks," Z said. "And thanks for picking me up and stuff, too."

"Sure," Brendon said. He hesitated for a moment and then shook his head, smiling up at her sheepishly. "Ryan's not here, is he?"

Z bit her lip. "He, uh, doesn't believe in prom."

"That makes sense," Brendon said, low enough that she had to strain to hear him over the music, close as they were. "I was just – anyway, it doesn't—"

"Brendon," Z said in a rush, because he danced with her and smiled at her and was kind; because Ryan was a _moron_. "Ryan doesn't like Michael Jackson."

Brendon blinked at her. "What?"

"I mean – he doesn't dislike him, or whatever, but it was Alex's shirt," she said. "And he's just – he's kind of stupid, sometimes, so you should just. You shouldn't give up."

For a moment, Brendon stood still on the floor, watching her seriously. Then he grinned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Z told him. She took a breath. "I'm going to go outside, get some fresh air. Thanks for the dance."

"Any time," Brendon said, raising a hand in salute, and Z pushed her way back out of the crowd, getting out her phone as she did so. There was a new text from Ryan, _i hateyou_ , and Z laughed and called his number as she slipped out the door and into the cool night.

"Really," Ryan said when he picked up. " _Hate_."

" _Shawty had them Apple Bottom jeans_ ," Z sang, " _boots with the fur_ —"

"Please tell me you're kidding," Ryan said, voice thick with horror.

"Nope," Z said. "Brendon takes interpretive dance _very seriously_ , I think you should know. Also grinding. Man, you know, I feel kind of cheap."

"I can't even speak to you right now," Ryan said. "There are no words for the depth of my loathing."

Z grinned. "I'm thinking that you should reconsider your position on prom," she said. "I'm just saying, if there's—"

She stopped short, standing at the foot of the steps leading up into the gym, staring. Ryan said, "Z?" tinny in her ear, and Z swallowed hard.

"I'm going to have to call you back," she whispered.

Ten metres away, heads bent together, Charlotte and Tennessee were talking. Z spent thirty seconds staring before she could will her feet to move. Tennessee was _right there_ , silvery in the moonlight, and Charlotte looked serious and thoughtful but she didn't look surprised, she didn't look grateful, she didn't look like Tennessee turning up tonight was at all unexpected. Z thought about Charlotte's guilty looks over the past week, the way the worry about Tennessee had faded after the first day and turned into worry about Z, and was torn between hot anger and a horrible urge to sit down and cry.

In the end, they fixed it for her. Tennessee glanced up suddenly and froze, and then Charlotte turned around and stared at Z, and if Z wasn't already sure of her guess, the blank, resigned expression on Charlotte's face would have confirmed it for her.

"Z," Tennessee began, starting towards her, and Z shook her head.

"Fuck you," she said.

"Z, come on," Charlotte said, and they both walked quickly over. Z wished she wasn't so frozen to the spot.

"How long were you guys hanging out without me," she said, voice low and shaking. "How long, how long were you – don't tell Z, she's gone all weird on us, she's—"

"Z, no," Tennessee said, and her face was _desperate_ , reaching out, but Z was sick of Tennessee looking at her like that, sick of Tennessee acting like she was going to touch Z when she never, ever could.

"I'm going home," she said, shoving past Charlotte with more force than was necessary. "I'm going – fuck you both, I can't even."

"We were going to tell you!" Charlotte said, grabbing her arm. "Z, we were, we were just trying to – Tenn's being trying to work things out—"

"Happy fucking prom, Charlotte," Z spat. She twisted away, walking out of the school grounds and to her bus stop, unable to make her limbs work without a certain jerky movement that made her shaky and uncertain.

She glanced over her shoulder once, couldn't help it, and hated herself for it immediately. Charlotte and Tennessee were watching her go, staring after her, Tennessee's hand still half outstretched, but they weren't following. They weren't coming after her.

Z got onto the bus and sat at the back, folding her arms over the seat in front of her and pressing her face against them, so no one else on the bus would see her cry.

\---

She was home early enough that her parents asked her what had happened, and Z had a stray hysterical thought about wishing she could tell her parents that she was in love with her best friend, who was a ghost, just so she wouldn't come off as such a cliché. Then she thought about the first half of that explanation and revised her opinion of herself. Instead of saying anything she went up to her room and put on the most depressing Fiona Apple album she owned, turned on the lamp on her desk and closed her eyes, standing and swaying in the middle of her room in the dim, golden light.

After a moment she opened her eyes and drew in a breath. She stepped out of her room and went down the hall to wash her make-up off, eyes wide and staring at herself in the mirror, careful with each tiny bird. She unzipped the back of her dress and shrugged her shoulders out of it on her way back to her room, so it slipped down her body and caught around her legs, and Z paused in the doorway to step out of it so that she didn't rip it, picked it up and hung it up in her closet.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and turned to stare, all awkward limbs like this, in her bra and underwear, hair still pinned up the way her mom had done it before. The light was kind, at least, and she didn't look so pale, the lamp giving everything a dusky, honey tone, and Z breathed in, breathed out, looked at herself. She didn't look away from the mirror even as Tennessee appeared behind her.

"Z," Tennessee said. Z stared at her, still caught for a moment in the horrible, still sadness of the night, and then she remembered that she wasn't wearing very much of anything at all. She turned around in a hurry and folded her arms across her chest.

"I don't want to talk to you," she said.

"I know that," Tennessee said, and she sounded close to tears, voice hitching over the words. "I know that, Z, but you've gotta—"

"I don't know why I do, all of a sudden," Z said coolly. "You haven't wanted to speak to me for the past week. I don't know why all of a sudden I have to listen to you, when you wouldn't come to me."

"I was freaked out," Tennessee said. "I was – it was _scary_ , it was too much, I needed to go and think about things on my own and try to fix them, try to work out what was going on."

"Fine," Z said. "But you weren't on your own. You were talking to Charlotte. Since Monday or Tuesday, right? You went to her, and you guys kept your little secret, because I'm still the fucking New Girl, three years later."

" _No_ ," Tennessee said. She drew in a ragged breath – _you don't need_ _to breathe_ , Z thought nastily – and said, "Listen, don't – don't blame Charlotte. I told her not to tell you."

"Wow," Z said. "That makes me feel better. Thanks a whole lot, Tenn."

"It's not meant to make you feel bad!" Tennessee cried, clenching her fists by her side. "I needed to be – to be safe for a while! It's not meant to be an insult!"

"Then why would you go to Charlotte and not me!" Z shouted, throwing a quick look to check the door was closed, the music loud enough that her family wouldn't come up to investigate. "Why is _Charlotte_ safe? You make it sound like I'm some kind of psycho bitch, Tennessee, and I'm _not_ , so what the fuck did I do? Why can you be around her and not me?"

"Because you mess me up," Tennessee said in a rush, tripping over her words, accent more pronounced than usual. "You always do. You're not safe and you've never been safe and most of the time I can deal with that and I always will because not being around you is so much scarier, but sometimes it's too hard, Z, and I can't, I can't – because you mess me up."

Z stared at her, not daring to move, and Tennessee looked away, her face twisting. "I can't dance with you at prom," she whispered. "Jesus fuck, Z, what am I meant to do? How am I meant to – to solve anything, to understand what happened last week when the only bit of it I can think about is you touching me?"

"I'm." Z's throat wasn't working the way she was used to, her mouth too dry, tongue clumsy. She looked away and tried again. "What did you work out? About last week."

"Nothing," Tennessee said, looking tired. "There wasn't anything special or magical, or – I wasn't thinking about anything when I picked them up. I just picked them up." She hesitated, then said, "You've got glitter, on your neck."

"Oh," Z said. She turned around, back to the mirror, and there it was, gleaming gold under her chin. Z swallowed and swiped it off, said, "Probably from the decorations."

"Right," Tennessee said.

Z swallowed and looked at herself in the mirror, at Tennessee standing behind her. The light was kind, she thought: she looked pretty. The way Tennessee was looking at her made her think that she looked pretty, too, and Z said, "You know your hair is soft?"

Tennessee took a tiny step forward. "Yeah?"

"Which is weird, I thought," Z continued, "because, like. It's not like you can condition it or whatever, you know?"

"Hair maintenance is tricky when you're dead," Tennessee agreed, but her voice was soft, wasn't very much like she was joking at all, and Z stared at her, couldn't look away, had never been able to look away.

"I just keep thinking about it," Z whispered, as Tennessee drew closer. Z held her hand out into the space in front of her, pinched her fingers on thin air. "Like that," she said, and Tennessee was right behind her, head bent over Z's shoulder. If Tennessee was really there, Z thought dizzily, Z would be able to feel the warmth of her even though they weren't touching, would be able to feel Tennessee's breath, smell her.

Then Tennessee ran her fingers down Z's arms, a shiver of electricity, and Z gasped and tilted her head back, felt the shivers chase up and down her skin, hairs standing up on end. She wanted to close her eyes, but if she closed her eyes she'd lose what she had of Tennessee, Tennessee's face reflected in the mirror, the reverent look about her eyes, her soft mouth, when she stepped up closer, hands on Z's hips, mouth pressed against the strap of Z's bra. Z couldn't feel her, just the goosebumps that sprang from Tennessee's presence, but in the mirror she could see their edges blurring. Tennessee wasn't quite passing through Z, but she was close enough that they were sinking into each other, neither one of them quite girl or ghost.

\---

Z dreamt of going to prom and finding the building nearly empty, streamers and balloons all ready, music pounding, plastic cups set out on tables for drinks, with only the last few stragglers still there. A single spotlight swung from side to side in the middle of the floor, and underneath it Z could see Charlotte standing and talking to no one, that familiar, impatient glint in her eye, and when Z got closer she realised that Charlotte wasn't talking to no one. She was talking to Tennessee, but Z couldn't see her, had lost whatever strange compilation of nerves allowed her to see Tenn in the first place.

She woke up and stared at the ceiling, and wished that Tennessee had stayed the night, had curled up in a corner and slept unnecessarily, just because Z wanted her there. Z didn't think she herself would have been able to get much sleep, continually aware of Tenn just in the same room as her, but it would have been reassuring. It would probably mean that she didn't have to replay the events of tonight over and over, trying to ward off nightmares.

 _I wasn't thinking about anything when I picked them up,_ Z thought, and sat up.

"Huh," she said aloud.

\---

Charlotte was tapping on the kitchen window at nine the next morning, which was a fair indication of her guilt, considering the fact that she didn't usually get up until eleven on weekends. Z had already been up for three hours. When Charlotte arrived, Z was making her fourth pot of coffee, and she waved Charlotte in absently before she remembered that she was meant to still be mad at Charlotte.

It was hard to stay mad, though, with this heady excitement coursing through her veins, and Z was already fixing Charlotte her coffee the way she liked it before Charlotte walked in.

"Hey," Charlotte said hesitantly, and came closer. She touched Z's shoulder, said, "Look, I know you don't want to talk to me right now—"

"I think I've got it," Z said.

Charlotte blinked. "Got what?"

" _It_ ," Z said. "Tennessee being solid. Why it happened and – and how we can make it happen again, make it _last_ , this time."

Charlotte stared at her. "I." She stopped, cleared her throat, and tried again. "For real, Z?"

"Yeah," Z said. She pushed her hair back from her face and said, "That was really fucking mean, this week."

"I know," Charlotte said miserably. "I didn't – I hate lying to you, Z, but she asked me, and it's Tenn."

"If I had asked you," Z said, watching her, "if I'd told you a secret or something, and asked you to keep it from Tennessee even though you knew she'd want to know, would you have done it?"

Charlotte drew in a breath. "I've done it every day for the past three years," she said, and Z took a step back, surprised and knocked off-balance. Charlotte watched her steadily, her eyes warm and clear, and Z shook her head slowly, like a dog, trying to get her thoughts sorted out.

"I'm not," she began, and Charlotte smiled, touched Z's cheek very quickly.

"Yeah, you are," she said. "Always have been. Is that coffee for me?"

"Yes," Z said.

Charlotte took it and leaned back against the counter. "You really think you can make her solid?" Charlotte asked. "Like – corporeal?"

"I saw Tennessee last night," Z said, doing her very best not to flush. Charlotte didn't look surprised. "I saw her last night," Z continued, "and she said – just quickly, she said that when she picked up the drumsticks she wasn't thinking about anything at all. That she couldn't work out what kind of magic might be involved in something like that, when she wasn't trying to do anything at all. But I realised that she – she was thinking of something, she was thinking about playing the drums, and she just picked up the sticks because she didn't stop to think that she couldn't. And last year, at that concert, I was sure she was there properly, just for a moment, just for – it's _music_. I think. It makes all of us – _realer_ , but maybe Tennessee especially. Or in a way that we can see."

Charlotte hummed, tapping her short fingernails against the porcelain of her cup. "You don't really have much proof at all," she said.

"I know," Z admitted. "But I just, I think it might work. If we tie something to Tennessee, if we make it about her – about music, and pretty things, and—"

"But what if she starts thinking about it?" Charlotte asked. "Won't she just disappear again?"

"We tie her to it," Z said. She bit her lip and said, "It just – it works in my head. Will you trust me?"

"Yes," Charlotte said. She leaned forward and kissed Z's cheek, warm and lingering. "Thank you for the coffee," she said.

"You're going?"

"I'm babysitting for my aunt today," Charlotte said, and grimaced. "I promised, can't get out of it." Then she looked at Z very seriously and said, "Go save Tennessee."

"Doing my best," Z whispered.

\---

The chain was from Z's grandmother. She wondered if it would be better if somehow she'd managed to track down Tennessee's family, find something that linked her to them, but Z didn't think anyone could do that without professional training outside of _Famous Five_ novels, so she was doing the best she could with limited resources.

The chain was silver and soft, and Z poured it into her hand like sand or rain, then tugged it up quickly and weirdly a couple of times, checking that it was relatively easy to untangle. Z wasn't good at remembering these sorts of things when she bought jewellery for herself, but this one was different and important and it had to be _right_.

The chain was, unfortunately, the easy part. Satisfied with it, Z set it aside and reached for her guitar, sliding out the pick from where it was tucked into the first fret. She closed her eyes and took a breath, and then she opened her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror, frightened and jittery, and for a moment she didn't move a muscle. Then she laughed, launched into an enthusiastic cover of Britney Spears, rolling her eyes back into her head and pretending she was on stage with some punk band, forcing them to laugh, making everyone look at her, and Tennessee close and real behind her.

Z played the chords that had been stuck in her head for a while, humming nonsense words over the top. She thought about Tennessee so close that they were half the same, skin and spirit together, and sang, " _when I could love with grit and guts and reckless unrestraint_ ," but that wasn't the song, not Tennessee's song. Z tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling, and she thought about what it was like to see Tennessee appear out of nowhere, and she thought about Tennessee's smile, and the brightness of her eyes, and she thought about Tennessee tagging along to every band practice or detention or boring class that Z had to go to, because Z asked her to. She thought about Tennessee blowing a faint breeze along her neck in greeting, and she said, "Won't you come out and play."

She had to get up and flip through her Beatles songbook to find the chords, but it was easy enough to pick up, and Z propped the book in front of her and sat back on the bed, kicking her legs up and holding her guitar close against her. She sang, and she didn't change any of the words, but she thought about Tennessee instead of that unknown Prudence – there was probably a story about her somewhere, but Z didn't know it – and when she sang, " _you are part of everything_ ," it made her smile.

" _The sun is up_ ," Z sang, and thought about listening to this song at sleepovers, lying around on the floor with Tennessee and Charlotte and thinking that nothing could possibly go wrong as long as the three of them stuck together. They had a rule that when they were Appreciating Music together they had to lie flat on their backs, preferably in a sunbeam, with their eyes closed. Once, though, about a year ago, Z had opened her eyes at _it's beautiful/and so are you_ and found Tennessee looking straight back at her.

Z played the song through three times. On the third time, her voice was shaking and her fingers felt sweaty around the pick, and when she looked at the morning light through the window she thought about all the quiet magic of the world, thought about the strange electricity coursing through her, and whether that was something more from the inexplicable, marvellous thing that linked her to Tennessee, or just plain hope. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth and words were getting harder to form, but she forced herself through to the end and got up to fetch a pair of scissors from her drawer. It took some creative and potentially dangerous stabbing to get a hole through the top of the pick, but Z managed it in the end. She strung the chain through the hole and did up the clasp, held the pendant up to the sunlight doubtfully. It didn't look very special. Mostly it just looked clumsy and handmade, and Z thought, _oh, please. Please._

 __She could feel herself flagging, too little sleep and too many nerves. For a moment she stood up, ready to push on through it; then the clouds drifted in front of the sun at the right angle to send her room into shadow, make her bed look dusky and infinitely appealing. Z sighed and climbed back into it, clutching the necklace tight in her hand.

When she dreamed, this time, it was not about empty rooms or trying to find Tennessee, or about inevitable failures and yet another disappointment. Instead she dreamed about the woods at the back of her school, about giddy laughter filling her up and the unaccountable, delightful feeling that she had cheated someone or something, and gotten away with it.

\---

Z woke up when the sunlight shifted and striped straight across her face, making her blink her eyes into the glare and groan. She rolled over to look at the clock; it was half past two in the afternoon, and Z thought, _now_. In her hand, the necklace felt alive with something cold and clear and true. Z thought about silver being mined, threaded through a fire, the rhythm of machinery working to press it into this shape, and she pressed it to her lips for a moment, breathed in. _Something made me able to see you_ , Z thought, _and now it's my turn to use that, whatever it is, it's your turn_.

She picked up her bag and tucked the necklace securely away in it, shouted to her parents that she was going out, and got on her bike. The ride to school was a nice one, though it felt strange doing it on a Saturday afternoon, especially when she rounded the corner and saw the schoolyard and buildings deserted in front of her.

As she rode, she thought, _Tennessee, hey, hey, you,_ and wanted her, quietly and steadily, the way that she and Charlotte had found usually pulled Tennessee towards them. (Not out of some mystical force, Tennessee said, just: there was something about them that made them see Tennessee, and Tennessee kept them fixed as anchors in her mind, in the landscape.)

The woods were green, pierced through with sunlight, and Z left her bike on the outskirts of them, went through until she found the abandoned lounge furniture that Ryan and his group sat on. She slid into the driest one and pulled out her phone, texted Charlotte with _okay, here goes_.

Charlotte must have been on a break; she replied immediately with _luck, luckluckluck_ , and Z smiled, tilted her head back to look at the gap between the trees and the blue sky. Everything felt very warm and very safe, and when Tennessee said her name, Z didn't jump, didn't startle. She didn't even look up immediately; drew in a breath and let Tennessee's presence settle.

"Z," Tennessee repeated, and Z sat up properly, looked at her. Tennessee looked anxious and jittery, biting at her fingernails, and Z remembered with a start that Tennessee hadn't had that blinding moment of clarity in the night, hadn't spent today dozing and hoping. The last time they'd been in a room together, Z had had her eyes closed, breathing raggedly with Tennessee hovering in front of her, leaning closer and closer, and then sighing and fading slowly from view.

"Hi," Z said, and Tennessee picked at a loose thread from her sleeve.

"Hey," she said. "I – how are you?"

"Okay," Z said. She rested her chin on her palm and said, "Last night was kind of odd." Tennessee swallowed, then nodded, and Z said, "You distracted me."

Tennessee's cheeks were kind of pink. "From what?" she said.

"From being mad," Z said. Tennessee smiled very quickly at that, and Z said, "I'd – make you promise not to disappear on me like that again, but I think that that's not what – everyone does that, all people do that. It's just harder for me to take off, because of all your weird magic crap."

"Right," Tennessee said, looking a little unsure.

Z nodded, firmly, and opened her bag, pulling out the necklace. "Catch," she said, and chucked it at Tennessee's head. Tennessee raised her hand automatically and the necklace thunked against her palm with a slight rattle of its chain. For a moment Tennessee didn't move, and then she glanced down at the necklace and started, drew in a sharp breath. "Tenn," Z said, quickly, "I'm kind of in love with you. You know that, right?"

Tennessee looked back at her, mouth opening slightly, thoroughly distracted. Z said, "Put the necklace on," and Tennessee did it without appearing to think very much about the necklace at all, until it was on.

"I – what?" Tennessee said, and Z didn't jump up, this time, didn't do anything besides sit and watch as the light fell around Tennessee rather than through her, as the grass went flat under her feet. Tennessee looked up at Z, eyes huge, and then she tilted her head back and pushed up on her toes, stretching out her arms to touch the trees around her. " _Oh_ ," she said, and, "How?"

"It's another kind of anchor," Z said quietly.

Tennessee tilted her head, looked at Z warm and steady, and Z shivered, could feel the ghost of Tennessee's hands on her already, and that wasn't all she had to content herself with anymore. Tennessee stretched out her hand and Z stood up, walked slowly towards her.

"This is going to change things," Z said. "You don't have any kind of papers – a birth certificate, social security, a passport—"

"—Charlotte's going to be weirded out, a bit," Tennessee added, watching her, "and even if she pretends not to be, she's going to be pissed. You're going to have to pretend you haven't known me all along to your other friends."

"We don't know how this works," Z continued. "Don't know how much of you is still going to be magic, what this is going to mean for you and how you – move through the world, and how you're linked to us."

"I'm still dead," Tennessee said, and shrugged one shoulder.

Z watched her calmly. "You still scare the hell out of me," she said.

"At least you can say I'm the undead," Tennessee said, eyes clear and true. "I've got no excuse, with you." Z stopped, breath catching in her throat, and Tennessee smiled shakily at her, said, "Are you frightened right now?"

"Yeah," Z admitted, but when Tennessee held out her hand, Z took it. Tennessee's hand was hot and dry, and it felt fragile to Z, like hollow bird bones ready to snap in her grasp, but Z held still and Tennessee didn't break, didn't fade away. She stayed at the tips of Z's fingers, right where Z had wanted her all along.

"Come here," Tennessee said, and Z stepped into Tenn's space but not through it. She linked their fingers together and slid her other arm around Tennessee's neck, and she was shaking like a tree caught in a storm, but she wasn't falling through. Tennessee was so warm to the touch, and her hair was still soft. When Z kissed her, Tennessee made a small, gasping sound and sank into her, and Z dared to close her eyes for the first time.

Tennessee was still there.


End file.
